Black eye

Sitting in

an old

cobbled street

sipping an espresso

and feeling

a black eye,

as black as ink,

as dark as soot,

watching me,

and moving its

ebon stare

to take in each

deliberate movement

of my body,

each reflective sip

of bitter darkness.


Then the subtle

shifting slide

of eye

with every

look up,

with each attempt,

to capture

its dark deep


and its unrelenting

ancient gaze.